I love her and it is the beginning of everything
by pondglorious
Summary: In which the Doctor and Clara visit Paris in the 1920s.


Their destination had been hard to agree on at first- Clara wanted New York in the 1920s, but the Doctor wasn't nearly ready to return to such a place haunted by ghosts and clouded with tormented memories. "It's too bustling there," he argued, "Paris is much more quaint." Clara rolled her eyes and claimed with an amused edge in her voice that "It's the _twenties_, Doctor. Nothing is quaint."

They settled on it anyway, and the TARDIS landed on the cobblestone streets on a clear night in the exact time and place they'd agreed on, much to both Clara and the Doctor's surprise. They were both much too equipped to getting lost.

"What, no aliens?" Clara asks suspiciously, sticking her head out of the TARDIS and glaring at the spot where the Doctor had already skipped across the street. "No monsters, no strange planets, no terrifying aliens chasing us down corridors? "

"Nope, just history." Said the Doctor, grabbing her hand and dragging her out of the TARDIS and slinging an arm around her shoulder as they walked along the sidewalk. They stopped for a moment to take in the view, and the shining street lights reflecting off the water of the canal took her breath away just as much as seeing her in bright red lipstick and a drop waist dress took away his. He tried not to stare, and suddenly he tore his arm away and proceeded to dart carelessly into the street, throwing his arms up into the air. "Wonderful, beautiful, human history!" He shouted, loud enough for a few quiet onlookers to glance his way nervously. "Isn't it just fantastic?"

Clara ran to catch up with him, laughing the whole way. "You know, for a 900 year old space alien, you sure find such ordinary humans to be wildly fascinating."

They walked side by side now, and Clara couldn't resist slipping her hands comfortably around his arm."That's because humans are fascinating. And you, Clara Oswald, are anything but ordinary." He tapped his finger playfully against her nose, which made her blush as her mouth broke into an effortless smile.

Just then an old car spun up along the road in front of them, the topless vehicle full of rowdy, shouting passengers. They were all yelling at the same time in an inaudible sort of chant and waving around glasses overflowing with bubbly champagne. They used grand hand gestures indicating they wished rather enthusiastically for the Doctor and Clara to come along. The only words that rose above the general loudness were a drunkenly mumbled "Party!" and "Come on, come on! Come on in!"

Clara turned to look up at the Doctor. "I wouldn't mind a party." She mused. Before he could protest, the Doctor found himself being pulled into the car by Clara, along with some of the travellers who had jumped from the car the usher them in quickly. Upon climbing in, they were welcomed by eager hands thrusting champagne glasses at them. The Doctor declined politely, much to the disapprovement of their company, as Clara took a glass and sipped, grinning wildly at the new adventure about to ensue.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to get in cars with strangers, Miss Oswald?" The Doctor hissed low in her ear.

"Well you certainly should be glad I didn't listen to them, strange boxes would count as well, don't you think?"

To that, he did not have a reply. He simply sat grumpily back against the seat as Clara gladly mingled with the rest of the crowd as they sped along a bumpy road until the reached their destination.

They sauntered casually into the party as if they didn't belong any other place but here as their friends from the automobile filtered in and went their separate ways. The room had a misty smoke lingering all around the air, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol and old books creating an interesting but not displeasing aroma. Someone was playing the piano, and in the middle of the floor people were dancing, and all around them guests were chattering and chortling, gossiping and babbling away. The low light made created an even more smoky atmosphere, and there was a soft glow all around as dim light reflected off the beads of the ladies' necklaces, dresses and headpieces. Clara was obviously impressed, with a hand lingering to cover her ridiculously smiling mouth which was wide with wonder. The Doctor noted Clara's blatantly fascinated demeanor, but couldn't find the words to tease her for it as she her face lit up upon taking in her surroundings.

_Of course_, thought the Doctor, _Of course, after showing her galaxies and planets and aliens and time travel and all the things she'd only heard in storybooks, she's only impressed with a simple party in 1920s Paris. Of course._ And as the Doctor stood there musing over the ridiculous impossibility of his companion, she took up the opportunity to chatter among the many guests.

Not wanting to miss out on anything, the Doctor rushed over to trail behind her like a puppy, and together they talked curiously with the whole room of partygoers (Well, Clara talked mostly, while the Doctor stood beside her awkwardly, occasionally chiming in only to have his comments dismissed). Servers floated around the people, offering classes of champagne perfectly balanced on little silver trays. Once again the Doctor declined politely as Clara swept up a glass. "I may not have gotten the warning about strange cars, but I most certainly didn't miss the one about drinking," Said Clara, amused. "You decline now while I'm taking up the alcohol at every opportunity." she was being wonderfully overdramatic. "That's always a bad sign. A very bad sign indeed." She peered at him over the glass rim as she took a sip from it and poked playfully at his chest.

"Oh, me?" He said oddly, as if there were anyone else in room she'd be talking to. "Ah, I'm not too fond of the alcohol. Too much...bitterness." He made a face as if he'd just eaten a particularly sour lemon to convey his disgust.

"You're strange, does anyone ever tell you that?"

"Why, is it a bad thing? I consider it my best quality." He proudly straightened this bowtie.

_So do I_, Thought Clara, but kept her mouth shut and turned to socialize once more with the party that was now literally overflowing with guests.

Among the company of the party the met a quiet young painter who lingered near the edges of the crowd, almost going unnoticed in the humble bustling of the small party. Quickly he became very infatuated by Clara, and rather forcefully suggested that she be a model for his paintings. Much to the Doctor's discomfort, it sounded more like a command than a request. He certainly didn't seem to be too concerned with being well-mannered. Clara smiled and giggled at the painter's overeagerness and asked, "And what is your name, may I ask?"

"Pablo Picasso." replied the man.

She spit out her drink back into the glass, and nearly choking she managed to sputter, "_excuse me?_"

And then she felt completely idiotic for not noticing before; he'd said he was a painter, after all, and she'd seen plenty of pictures of him in her lifetime...but it's not like she was accustomed to assuming people are Pablo Picasso.

Pablo now looked just as dumbfounded as Clara, and he asked if something was wrong, but Clara could hardly speak anymore. "Okay, well, I think that's enough chit chat for one night, don't you think, Clara?" Chimed in the Doctor, grinning at her shocked expression. "Ah, it must be, she can hardly think of anything to say. Well, it's been good talking, Picasso, but we really must get going." The Doctor took up this opportunity to grab her gently by the shoulders and drag her across the room. He thought he heard Pablo call in a heavy accent, "Is that a no?!" And he was glad that Clara didn't notice, as the sound was drowned out by the music and the voices suffocating the stuffy room. The stopped abruptly and the Doctor turned to face her, smiling smugly.

"Is Clara _actually_ impressed?"

"Is the Doctor_ actually_ jealous?"

That shut him up. He merely mumbled and fumbled with his bowtie as she stood with her eyebrows raised, a satisfied smile resting on her face.

"I'm-you-Ah, let's go dance," He suggested, waving away her comment rather awkwardly. He looked down and offered her his arm.

"If you insist." Said Clara, letting him lead her hastily to the middle of room where couples and solos alike were dancing in a craze.

The jazzy music proved to be quite fun for two amateurs, but the Doctor didn't even attempt to move with the beat, he merely flapped his limbs around furiously as Clara ended up doubled over in laughter and struggled to gain enough composure to join in on his strange steps. After a while of their weak attempts to blend in with the 20s style dances and many double takes from judgemental eyes, the music changed dramatically from it's upbeat rhythm to a softer tone, and couples filtered in and began to dance in a way contrasting to how they had been before.

The Doctor wordlessly, hesitantly offered his hand to Clara, who took it and tried not the marvel too much on the way his strong, large fingers covered and entwined with her petite ones so effortlessly.

They began to waltz silently as the music nipped at their ears, and his hand gripped her waist tightly as he spun her around in sweeping, dramatic movements. It was a quietly tense few moments, until the Doctor whispered urgently in her ear, "Oh, no, I think I see Picasso coming this way. Quick, let's go!" He pulled her by the hand away from the crowd and ran until they reached a deserted hallway, where he collapsed onto a bench, exhausted as much as a Time Lord could be from all the dancing and fleeing. "That was a close one." He sighed.

Clara walked over to where he sat and stood unusually close to him and said in shallow gasps, "_A close one?_ Close to making me the muse to one of the most popular painters of all time? You say that as if it's a bad thing." she pouted. "You're no fun."

"No, no, no, I'm just- protecting you," He argued. Clara nodded and mumbled sarcastically, "Oooh, _protecting_ me, _that's_ what you're doing."

"Yes, yes, you see- You don't_ really_ want to be painted by him, do you, I mean, he's not the most flattering of portrait-painters...And besides, you don't want to get involved with those artist types, trust me, it never ends well..." And with that he transitioned into a long rant about some trouble he'd once gotten into with Vincent Van Gogh, mumbling about sunflowers and monsters and museums, but Clara wasn't listening.

"I think I'm old enough to make these kinds of decisions for myself, thank you very much." she interrupted.

It was then that they both became aware of just how close they were- She was leaning over him so near that her lips were practically brushing his nose, and if he lowered his eyes they'd be right at level with her chest, which was an area he'd rather not find himself quite so literally face to face with. Instead he gulped a breath of air and decided to settle his eyes on the shape of her neck and the line of her collarbones and the microscopic pores and little marks that made up the soft skin leading down to where the beginning of her breasts disappeared beneath her dress. It was getting too much for him to bear, having to tear his eyes away before they slipped into forbidden territory, so again he shifted his eyes up, this time focusing on her lips. It wasn't any better than their previous whereabouts. They were slightly parted, and he could see a bit of her fleshy pink tongue teasing him relentlessly as it rolled against the roof of her mouth. Her lips were soft and luscious and richly red-lined and dangerously kissable. Her tongue flicked upward to lick her top lip before she whispered, "Maybe we should get back."

Her remark finally snapped him out of his daze and he jumped up suddenly, almost knocking her down in the process. He vaguely remembered that they were attending this party hardly invited, in a stranger's house, becoming suspiciously close in this all-too-tight hallway of theirs.

"Right. Back. I suppose it's best we get you home."

…

The beads of Clara's dress and long pearl necklaces and the clatter of her heels created an echoing rhythm on the cobblestone streets of Paris, and in the distance, the blurry lights of the Eiffel Tower shined against the night sky. She suggested they sit on the bench by the water and take in the view before they leave, and they sat down next to each other, Clara leaning her head to rest against his shoulder automatically. Everything seemed to reflecting the city lights in a soft glow; the misty pink sky, the shimmering pavement, the shining canal, even Clara's large eyes were lit up and glimmering.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? Paris at night. I've never been before, you know. But it's even better than the pictures. But maybe it's not as beautiful to you," she fathomed, "You've seen supernovas up close and planets made of diamonds or gold or any other beautiful shimmering thing and life forms more complex than the human mind could even think up. Is it bland through your eyes, Doctor?" She turned her head up to watch him as he stared across the vastness of the night.

"Of course not." Said the Doctor thoughtfully. "I told you that before- it's wonderful, history. Human history. Humans and their civilizations and their ability make creations so grand and still find beauty in the simplest of things. I love travelling with you. I can never figure you out. You humans and your morals and emotions- I think you've rubbed off on me, in the best of ways. Without you, I wouldn't be me. You made me better. All of you, most of the time without even knowing it."

And he thought of everything he'd seen, all of it. The planets, the life forms, the constellations, galaxies, supernovas, the stars, the suns, the moons. The death, heartbreak, loss, the gain, birth, the love. And everything seemed like just a dream. For just a moment, he stopped worrying, stopped thinking about the Earth falling out of the sky or the sun exploding and all the other horrific, endless possibilities of doomsday. He felt at peace with the weight of her head against his arm and the warm night breeze encasing them and the lights that shone so brightly in her eyes. He felt like he was waking up, surfacing once again, and the only real thing in the world, the only mystery worth solving after everything, was the human girl in his arms.

"Clara?"

"mmhm?"

_I love you_, he thought.

"Nothing." he said.


End file.
